Hot Fucking Mess

I take one, one, one ’cause you left meAnd two, two, two for my familyAnd three, three, three for my heartacheAnd four, four, four for my headachesAnd five, five, five for my lonelyAnd six, six, six for my sorrowAnd seven, seven for no tomorrowAnd eight, eight, I forget what eight was forBut nine, nine, nine for the lost godsTen, ten, ten, ten for everything, everything, everything

-Kiss Off – Violent Femmes

Fuck off Depression!

It’s been a long strange ride, this life of mine.

When asked to describe myself, the words hot fucking mess come to mind. I’m not trying to be shocking or cute, just stating the facts.

I thought that by the time I hit the big 4-0 I’d have a great and stress free life – that I would have it all together. Ha! That’s the furthest from the truth. Ask anyone in my family – they all think I’m a fuck-up, whether they openly admit it or not.

These days I feel like a twenty-something who just had an awakening but doesn’t know how to get things going in the right direction.

My life has been anything but easy. I just started living my life for me in 2011. I’m far away from the person I was before 2011, but I am still haunted by those mistakes and failures of my sordid past.

Lately I’ve been jumping from idea to idea in my mind. I want to feel something more than the raw numbness inside. It’s unnerving. There are times I want to carve, burn or bore holes into my skin just to feel something other than the sucking void inside. Maybe if someone sees me bleeding and scarred, they will know the torturous pain I am feeling inside from this fucking disease depression.

Ever since I started into the working world, my Mom-ster referred to me as a job hopper. It’s true, but I know why – I’m not meant to work for someone else. I know I have a fucking shitload of talent with my art, photography and writing, but how does one make a living with it? I wish I had a map to that success because every time I take off on that journey, I get lost, frustrated and pissed off.

You know what the most fucked up part of my work career is? I worked in fucking strip clubs for over seven years – and that’s the longest I ever had a job. At first it stimulated my creative mind but towards the end it paralyzed me.

Sure the money was the shit, but it also made me feel like shit inside. I allowed that easy and corrupted money keep me in a toxic environment way too long. While I am far away from that easy “big money grip”, and the money I earn these days is a lot leaner and harder to make, at least it is honest money.

Sometimes I think that the struggles I have with making money today are my karma for the money I so easily took from others in the strip club days.

Friends look at my life and tell me how much they admire me. If they only knew how fucked up I really am and how feel, I’m sure they wouldn’t say that. The bruises and scars are healed on the outside, but inside they are slowly being torn back open to bleed, over and over, forcing me to feel that pain again.

I think the head meds made this all worse. I seem calm, cool and collected on the outside but my mind is still screaming, scrambling and melting. I should get an Oscar for my daily interactions with people.

Anger propels me these days – I think it’s the only energy I have left to use to function day-to-day. The anger morphs into self-loathing and releases tons of self-doubt. It’s a deadly spiral. I know I need to get this shit into check before it grows out of control and the rage takes over.

As much as I’d like to, I don’t dare drink while in this state of mind. While I’d like to numb myself and silence the voices inside, I know that adding alcohol will eventually make things worse. Music and writing in my journal are my only saving grace, as always.

Funny thing is, through all of this bullshit I’m feeling inside, loneliness isn’t one of the feelings I am experiencing for once in my life. Maybe I’ve finally come to accept the fact I am a loner and will always be alone on this life journey. I’ve abandoned the fairy tale of a happily ever after with a man.

Truth is I just don’t want to get another person swept up in the chaos of my mind. Of course with my luck I would find someone with the same chaos inside and we would both self-destruct in a hail of rage and self-deprecation like Sid and Nancy without the drugs.